


Mutation

by PepperPrints



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 06:56:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperPrints/pseuds/PepperPrints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I've been thinking lately,” he muses suddenly, “about evolution.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutation

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Mutacja](https://archiveofourown.org/works/756954) by [Filigranka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/pseuds/Filigranka)



> For 31_days. Prompt: the uselessness of all things. On the hypothetical situation of Scar actually being captured at Briggs. Admittedly, I have no idea what this turned into.
> 
> [Decline](http://archiveofourown.org/works/723457) is a continuation.

“Let's have a chat.”

 

From the look on Scar's face, this seems to be the last thing that the Ishvalan expects after his imprisonment. Kimblee stands before him, not with threat of violence but with offer of conversation, and Scar seems skeptical. His expression is stony still, but his eyes do widen a fraction before narrowing again – those very unique eyes.

 

Major Miles, being only partially of Ishvalan blood, has different eyes. His shade is duller, like the color of dried blood. Scar, however, has a much more vivid color – like the crimson stones hidden in Kimblee's body.

 

Scar is bound head to foot, and the restraints are the only thing on his body at all. The climate of the North is unforgiving, so even the inside of the great wall of Briggs is cold. It's certainly more shelter than the outdoors, but one still needs layers to be comfortable. Scar won't freeze to death like this, but he'll certainly suffer a great deal of pain. The room feels cold enough for Kimblee, and he's dressed in his scarf and jacket. For Scar, it must be agony. The chair he's bound to is metal, drawing in the cold, and wherever his skin connects will stick and burn.

 

Kimblee isn't usually for this kind of torture, but Scar is quite the inspiration.

 

Admittedly, this comes from the part of him that wants to see the Ishvalan naked. It's not necessarily a sexual desire, nor is it particularly meant to demean him, but Kimblee is curious. Scar doesn't have that many marks on him save for his namesake, and now his recently injured arm. There is the only one other patch of scar tissue, located above his tattoos: where his own flesh ends and his brother's begins. Otherwise, his body is unmarked and muscular, toned and powerful. Scar honed himself into a human weapon.

 

Perhaps there was a bit of lust to confess to after all.

 

“I've been thinking lately,” he muses suddenly, “about evolution.”

 

He had a similar talk with Edward Elric not too long ago. Then, he spoke of humans and homunculi, and now with Scar, he had something else to consider.

 

He raises his foot, pushing it to the center of the chair, between Scar's forcefully spread thighs. He applies a bit of pressure, just enough to tip the chair back without knocking it over. He wants Scar to feel the gravity, to realize just how prone and vulnerable he is. Despite the threat of falling, Scar does not even twitch. He just gazes at Kimblee, stern as ever, his breath coming in visible puffs in the air around them.

 

“As a race, your people failed,” he says bluntly, and he sees Scar's body tense. “You were overrun and proven to be inferior because you shunned the next step in evolution, while Amestris embraced it.” He is, of course, referring to alchemy – the very thing that made it so easy to win the war, and the very thing the Ishvalans decried as such a sin.

 

“I thought we killed you all,” he continues, withdrawing his foot and letting the chair fall back into position. Scar grunts slightly at being jarred, but otherwise nothing betrays him. Curious, Kimblee begins to pace around him, looking Scar's body up and down to appreciate every angle. “Yet, here you are: a survivor, and you have alchemy to thank for your life. Do you know what that makes you?”

 

Scar is still silent, his eyes narrow and full of unspoken hate. Kimblee smiles as he completes his circle, coming back to a rest directly in front of Scar.

 

“A mutation,” he concludes. “The one oddity that sparks change – like a fish growing legs.”

 

He sees Scar's shoulders stiffen, and he wishes he could tell whether he was trembling from the cold or from anger – perhaps it was a mixture of both. Seeing that powerful body quake was intensely satisfying.

 

“Which would make it such a shame to kill you,” he sighs almost wistfully. “But you're insisting on your useless crusade. You can kill every State Alchemists that you find, but there will always be more. You cannot fight evolution.”

 

Scar is unmoved, and Kimblee frowns a bit. He is surprised that Scar doesn't try to argue, or even try to lash out. It's disappointing, really; like any alchemist, Kimblee wants a reaction.

 

Those crimson eyes watch him and Kimblee wonders if the offer that swayed Edward Elric would also sway Scar.

 

As if clearing his throat, Kimblee raises his hand to his lips and makes a muffled sort of cough. The stone comes up on his tongue, and he plucks it from his mouth, holding it up for Scar to see. Scar's eyes widen then, and Kimblee sees his opportunity.

 

“This is what I used to kill your people,” he tells him lowly, his voice almost a purr. “Would you like to use it to kill me?”

 

Scar does not respond and his gaze does not leave the stone. Crimson on crimson.

 

“The answer is yes, isn't it?” Kimblee asks, leaning in nearer to Scar. “You would do it. You'd take this, and you'd kill me and every other alchemist you came across – and you would enjoy it as much as I did when your people were my prey. The truth is that you and I are the same.”

 

That finally draws a reaction. Scar tears his eyes away from the stone, gazing up at Kimblee in obvious suspicion. Hiding the stone away in his mouth, Kimblee chuckles. He comes boldly closer, reaching out and stroking Scar's arm – his brother's arm – and Scar at last reacts, jerking in futile effort to shake him off.

 

“My alchemy is destruction,” says Kimblee, undeterred by Scar's attempted resistance. “I'm not a creator; I'm a destroyer. The former has no appeal to me.”

 

It's not clear if Scar is even listening; too focused on the fact that Kimblee is touching him. He seems torn since Kimblee's touch is warm, even through his glove, and his body must be desperate for some kind of heat to soothe it. Kimblee watches, almost endeared, and his fingertips trace the pattern of Scar's tattoos.

 

“But,” says Kimblee, and he removes one of his gloves as he bows closer. “I did create something.”

 

Kimblee raises his now bared hand, his fingertips grazing the scar tissue over the Ishvalan's eyes, touching his namesake.

 

“I created you,” Kimblee murmurs almost fondly. “Out of destruction, I created. I made another beast like me... another who reaps and destroys – and it's my most beautiful work yet.”

 

Cupping his face, Kimblee is incredibly gentle. The paleness of his flesh stands out boldly against the Ishvalan's darker skin. It's strangely enticing to behold. He can feel the conflict in Scar, how badly he wants to twist away warring with how good the warmth of Kimblee's hand must feel.

 

“That's why it's useless to fight me,” says Kimblee smoothly. “Because if you do kill me, you won't win. I will.”

 

At last, Scar's mouth opens, but Kimblee doesn't give him a chance to speak. Bowing his head, he claims the Ishvalan's mouth in a deep, searching kiss, and for several seconds Scar seems too startled to respond. Then, belatedly, he reacts in a fury. He lashes out against his restraints, snarls and bites at Kimblee's tongue. Gasping, Kimblee pulls back, touching his lips that are now damp with blood and Scar's saliva.

 

“I thought that would warm you up,” he teases, and Scar glares hatefully back at him. Kimblee's blood stains his mouth: red as his eyes and as the stones he had been taunted with.

 

It suits him.

 

Removing his scarf, Kimblee offers a parody of generosity: wrapping it around the Ishvalan's neck. “I enjoyed our talk,” he tells him sincerely. “I'll be back for more.”

 

“Alchemist.”

 

After so much silence, the sound of Scar's voice is almost startling. It's rough, raw, and strained from how much pain he had endured. Kimblee peers up, meeting his gaze, and Scar's eyes are narrow.

 

“I won't kill you.”

 

For a moment, Kimblee is startled, and then Scar continues. “You deserve far worse.”

 

Laughing softly, Kimblee withdraws from him, fixing his hat and replacing his discarded glove.

 

“I look forward to it.”


End file.
